Left to the Wolves
by Orange Sparrow
Summary: There was nothing Katherine could do to help Junior but she wasn't as helpless as she thought. AU in which Katherine survived the events of 1.12 instead of Chance.


**AN: ****This is the first part in a series of one shots I'm working on centered on Katherine. No Chance or Katherine/Chance, I'm afraid.**

**Disclaimer: Human Target belongs to Fox. And if they ever released season 2 on DVD I might be more inclined to give them more money.**

Guerrero would never be able to satisfactorily explain why he'd followed Baptiste when he'd sworn off Junior's case. He'll certainly never be able to tell the boss why, precisely, he'd opted to grab up Baptiste and drag him away from the docks instead of putting a bullet between Katherine's eyes and ending the whole disaster. Baptiste, in a fit of unexpected rage, had driven his elbow into Guerrero's nose as payment for his effort.

Blood was drying to Guerrero's skin and mustache but at least he wasn't bleeding still and, unlike Baptiste, he didn't have two bullets in the back to show for his struggle. They were holed up in one of the Old Man's safe houses and one of the organization doctors hovered over Baptiste, torn between dealing with the damage and not interrupting a very heated conversation between him and the boss.

"Junior's dead," Baptiste kept his eyes level, stared pointedly at a blank spot on the far wall and kept his voice deceptively neutral as he spoke into his cell phone.

Guerrero glanced down at his shirt, took note of the blood - some his, some Baptiste's - staining the front. _A shame_, he thought numbly, he'd probably have to burn it, because that's what he had to do with loose ends and evidence.

"An explosion."

An explosion and fire, wild and violent, had torn through the sky and the shipping container and Junior alike. Smoke had choked the air and in one terrifying moment Guerrero had felt everything he'd ever built up drop out beneath his feet. Guerrero scuffed his heel against the floor, tried to rub away a dark spot on the tile. It wouldn't come off.

"Katherine Walters got away."

Katherine's life was Guerrero's fault. He furrowed his brows, tried to glare the spot out of existence. It remained. _Was it blood?_ Guerrero wondered. Blood left behind in the wake of the dead and wounded who'd let their own failings flow from broken skin.

Baptiste didn't look at Guerrero after he hung up. The watering of his eyes couldn't be passed off on adrenaline or shock or the sting of smoke anymore. Guerrero, for his part, carefully didn't notice. The doctor, content he wouldn't accidentally be sucked into the boss's ire, got to work on Baptiste's wounds.

Guerrero pushed off from the desk he'd been sitting on and buried his hands in his pockets as he headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, mate?" Baptiste snapped, turning his full attention to Guerrero.

Baptiste's glare bore into the back of Guerrero's head. He shrugged away with crawling sensation left by the gaze and paused one last time at the doorway. "I'm gonna get out of here, dude. You know, before the Old Man shows up."

"You're the one who let Katherine get away. I'm not taking the blame for this one!"

"I don't think you understand," Guerrero nudged open the door and slipped half way out into the hall. "He was always going to blame you."

Which didn't make it fair but their line of work was never about fair. He ducked the rest of the way out and shut the door behind him.

"You can't leave!" Baptiste shouted after him, loud enough to carry out into the hall with Guerrero. It was half command, half plea, and an unspoken 'too' hung in the air behind the words. Under different circumstances Guerrero might have listened, might have stayed a little longer. As it was his car was parked outside and he still owed his life to someone else.

* * *

><p>Christopher's blood clung to Katherine's hands and dried beneath her nails. She hid them beneath her jacket and meandered along the streets, avoiding notice, ducking her head from having to look at or acknowledge anything. She half expected the hit man from earlier to pop up from the crowd and put an end to her wandering. The other half expected someone new to appear in his place.<p>

She was heading to the warehouse on autopilot. It was the last place she'd even felt remotely safe in the last three day and if nothing else Carmine was still there. If every other piece of her had shattered around her ears life and fallen through the cracks she could still take care of Carmine. At least until another assassin came after her, as they would, as they had, as Junior had warned her would happen two days ago. For all the blood and fire today she hadn't even managed to secure her safety.

It took hours to find her way back alone. By the time she found the building the sun had set and given way to a new moon and sickly streetlights. They lit up the barren concrete floor of the warehouse in pale yellows and oranges, took shape in oblong squares, caricatures of the uncovered windows the light streamed through. Carmine waited for her in the middle of the room, barely a spot in the expansive nothingness of the place. "Good boy," she whispered to Carmine. She almost scooped him into her arms but the dark stains on her hands made her stop. "I'm sorry," but it wasn't just Carmine she wanted to apologize to.

* * *

><p>Katherine spent the night in surreal half moments. She knew they weren't dreams only because sleep never came. She was curled up on the sofa with Carmine, waiting out her final hours before someone finally found her. She was wandering the warehouse, feet plodding across the floor in weary half steps. She was in the kitchen, brewing coffee and staring at the same man from two nights ago who'd tried to kill Junior.<p>

He was standing just in the door, leaning against the frame with one hand in his pocket. A plastic bag hung from the other, crinkled against his fingers. A knot formed in Katherine's stomach, twisted in her gut and cried out - _don't want to die, I don't want to die_ - to her brain. She shoved the thought away, steadied her hands around her coffee mug. She sunk into one of the dining chairs in the room, propped her elbows on the table. The man didn't move from his spot, didn't say anything, and was there some sort of assassin/victim protocol she was supposed to initiate? Katherine dismissed the thought with a sip of her coffee. She sighed into her mug, set back down on the table. It clanked impressively in the silence. "Don't hurt Carmine, okay?" The only concession she'd make to her fear.

He furrowed his brows, tilted his head slightly. "Who? The dog?" He scoffed and took one step towards Katherine. He stood opposite her on the other side of the table, just within the glow of the tiny overhead light. He looked pretty awful, nose swollen, jacket sleeves torn up, and hair greasy. Katherine probably didn't look any better she realized; the last couple of days hadn't been kind to either of them.

The man deposited his bag on the table, pushed it over to Katherine's side. "I brought dinner," he said as an explanation. Katherine raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over the table. Her killer - because why else would he be here when he already tried to kill her once - stared back at her. If he expected her to burst into tears of gratitude at the gesture he was sorely mistaken.

"Not hungry," Katherine finally said, shoving the bag back to him.

"Bullshit. Kid, when was the last time you ate? Yesterday?"

"I'm not a kid," Katherine silly, picking out 'kid' to get caught up on with everything else to happen to her today.

"I picked up Thai and Italian. Pick one and eat it."

"No."

"I'm not going to let you starve yourself to death," he pulled up a chair and sat down across from her before freeing two takeout boxes from the bag. "If I have to treat you like a kid to get you to eat I will." He opened both boxes, pulled back the Styrofoam lids to let the smell of the meals drift through the room.

Katherine held out for another couple minutes in which she tried to stare down the intruder. She wasn't hungry, wanted nothing to do with the food but her stomach lurched to inform her otherwise. She scowled, chastised herself for giving up what little dignity she had as she picked up the box laden with fried rice and pork. The man handed her a plastic fork, claimed the Italian takeout for himself.

"The name's Guerrero," he said between mouthfuls of noodles. Katherine ignored him. "The boss wasn't happy about you getting away."

"I feel awful for him," Katherine snapped back. A plastic edge of the fork bit into her finger.

"Yeah, I'm sure whole world feels his pain. That's why I'm here."

"To make sure I don't get away again."

"No."

Katherine looked back up then, sought Guerrero's eyes from across the table. He was frowning, fork hovering somewhere between his mouth and the box. He wore the same forlorn look he had when Junior had held at gunpoint.

"I owe Junior. You may have noticed I never got to repay him and I don't like owing favors."

"So-"

"So I'm going to carry out his last job. Kid, we're going to get your life back."

"Are we, now?" Katherine gave Guerrero a rueful grin. Her fork dragged through her rice, raked patterns around the vegetables. "What makes you think you can ever get my life back to normal?"

Guerrero didn't comment. He slipped the lid back over his food.

"Just let them come after me. I don't want to spend the rest of my life running."

"You don't have to," Guerrero growled, though it sounded like he was chastising himself rather than Katherine. He pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his pocket and scrawled a set of numbers across the sheet. He held it up for Katherine to examine though when she tried to take it he snatched it back. "Read the numbers. Memorize them," he commanded.

It was a phone number Katherine realized. She skimmed the numbers but took no real notice of them. "Fine," she sighed, more to appease Guerrero than in any acknowledgment.

"Repeat them."

Katherine read aloud the numbers, rolled her eyes at the glare Guerrero shot at her around the page. He pulled the sheet out of sight. "Again." Easy, she'd just read them and her memory wasn't terrible. "Backwards."

Katherine blinked at him, opened her mouth to snap back 'no!' but found herself trying to recall the last digit instead. She managed her way through after a couple of stutters and a moment of thought.

"That's my number. Don't write it down, don't give it out. Call me when you get tired of waiting for death," Guerrero took his half of the food and vanished into the poor lighting of the warehouse leaving Katherine alone with her dinner and the cold dregs of her coffee.

* * *

><p>Katherine found Christopher's office the next day. He'd set up a block of a desk just besides one of the tall, curtain-less windows Katherine couldn't stand. Still, sitting at the desk, with restless Carmine in her lap, she could look out over the city. Morning unfolded before her eyes and lives played out beneath her. The sight smoothed the torn edges of her nerves, left her calmer.<p>

The elevator chimed to announce a new intruder but it still wasn't the hit man from yesterday.

"Detective," Katherine spared a brief glance at Winston before returning to her busy schedule of starring off into space.

"Katherine," he greeted back as he walked up to her. He waited for her to say something but Katherine remained deliberately silent. "I know what happened at the docks last night."

Carmine shifted in Katherine's lap, turned large, soft eyes on Winston.

"None of that was your fault."

"Someone out there sure blames me."

"That doesn't make them right. You aren't planning on staying here, are you?" Katherine's silence was telling. "If I can find you, so can they."

"I'm tired of running. They've already destroyed my life, what else do I have to lose?"

"What happened to taking the fight to them, then?"

"The docks happened."

Winston tried to follow Katherine's gaze through the window but saw nothing of interest past towering buildings and swathes of sky. He turned Katherine's words in his head and exhaled slowly as he put his thoughts together. "Look, you have a choice here," Winston leaned against the desk, folded his arms over his chest. "You can give up and wait for them to start sending more assassins after you. And maybe I can't tell you what to do, but if I were you?" Winston paused and Katherine let him make eye contact. She was listening, even if she wasn't saying anything. "I'd start fighting again. If there's nothing left to lose, what's the harm?"

"And I guess you know how one girl from downtown and one detective can bring down an entire circle of trained killers?"

"Ex-detective. I resigned. If you're interested in listening, we have our options. You aren't as doomed as you think you are."

Katherine pointedly turned back to the window. Sunlight streamed in through the glass, lit up a little patch of concrete floor in yellow and orange. The light was bright and clear, not at all like the sickly hopelessness of last night. Outside the sky was clear, brilliant blue and gold. The cookie Junior had saved for her was crumbled and stale by now and the last little bit of her old life wouldn't be waiting for her tomorrow. But like this, between the sunlight and Winston's assertion and Guerrero's token gesture of kindness? Katherine could almost believe she'd see tomorrow morning and the tomorrow after.

"Think things over. I'll be in touch," Winston stood again, hesitated for just a moment like he expected Katherine to protest. When she said nothing he started towards the elevator, steps slow and deliberate.

Katherine waited until she heard the elevator chime and take Winston away before she snatched her cell phone from the desk. She flipped open the screen, entered the number Guerrero had forced her to memorize last night. She stared at the numbers written out on her screen, hoped for a brief moment they'd unlock the secrets to turning her life right side up. They revealed nothing, but of course ten little numbers couldn't bring the dead back or put her life the way it used to be. Her fingers brushed against the top of the phone, pressed against the plastic almost hard enough to shut her cell and erase the numbers. Her thumb hit 'call,' the speaker hummed to life and rang.

"Ready to live your life again?" Guerrero's voice, clear and with all the confidence Katherine had lost, filtered through the speaker after the second ring.

"I'm going to do more than live," Katherine let her eyes trail along the lines of light on the floor, follow up the wall and out the window. Below her the city rolled out to the horizon, lived and breathed within her vision. "I need you to meet me at the warehouse tomorrow," and that was a promise she'd find a way to live until tomorrow. "There's someone you're gonna have to work with if you want to help me."


End file.
